


The Feast of St. Cogitosus

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst acting as Commodore during the Mauritius campaign, Jack seeks to mark a very special occasion in April, 1810 with Stephen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feast of St. Cogitosus

Jack Aubrey was naturally generous to a fault. His extremely sanguine disposition entailed a high degree of friendly impulsivity and from thence his generosity sprang. Giving gave him great pleasure and he infinitely preferred giving gifts to receiving them. He loved to do things handsomely, whether it was for his guests at table or a thoughtful act for a former shipmate. Symbols, tokens and gestures meant a great deal to him because of his marked tendency to be sentimental. He had grown up in a service that was full of symbolic gestures and tokens and they spoke deeply to his heart.  
  
Jack’s particular friend, Stephen Maturin, was not cut of the same cloth. His seeming otherworldliness and lack of attachment to most artifacts  made him almost entirely indifferent to possessions and money. His pocketbook was open to his particular friend at will, with never an accounting, whether the amount was a farthing or hundreds of guineas. He was by nature extremely frugal, leading an almost completely ascetic life, caring only for the purchase of books and scientific instruments; his most treasured acquisitions not being for sale anywhere: his beloved collections which he gathered himself from the flora and fauna of the earth. He lived a life of the mind. His intense pragmatism led him to give to others what was necessary when necessary, occasionally very generously but not typically to mark any occasion ever with a gift for mere sentiment’s sake. He could be extremely generous with his intimates but it would not typically occur to him to buy a gift for an occasion unless there was a pragmatic purpose to be served. He cared little or nothing personally for tokens of affection without a greater intrinsic value.  
  
Given Stephen’s sentiments about gifts, Jack had despaired of ever buying Stephen a significant gift. He had given Stephen precious few gifts over the years, he could count them on one hand and none had been very special. A very special day was at hand and Jack did not know if Stephen would even realize or remember that it would be ten years since they had met in the Governor’s House music-room in Port Mahón, Minorca back on April 18, 1800. It was easier for him to remember, he thought, because he had received his first commission later that night which had made him master and commander of his very first real command, the _Sophie_. It had been a red letter day for him and he would never forget it, any more than he would forget the date of the Battle of the Nile or Trafalgar Day. Now it was ten years later. It meant a great deal to Jack to give Stephen something tangible, something thoughtful, something actually special enough that it would mean something to Stephen. "I cannot buy Stephen that which he truly seeks," Jack thought. "No bones of a dodo nor sacred ibis nor a live tarsier. He would want those only from his own hand, in any case.” Such were the leanings of a natural philosopher, Stephen’s passionate avocation.  
  
Giving Stephen a special gift for a special occasion: it was a very hard abalone to crack, Jack thought. Stephen never mentioned his own birthday or Jack's for that matter, celebrated Christmas at table only (or perhaps in prayer, Jack did not know; they had never been on land at Christmas together for him to see Stephen go to Mass at a Papist church.) Over the years, they had shared everything they could share and would have shared more had they been of a size, which they were nowhere close to being; Jack being much taller and much heavier than his friend. Giving Stephen something to be his alone, functional and very special seemed a near impossibilty.  
  
Jack had an apprehension that being given a very personal gift might put Stephen out of sorts, that he might take it ill. After ten years together, Stephen was still in many ways an enigma to Jack and Jack dreaded giving offense to him unintentionally. Would Stephen think Jack was showing away? Would he be resentful that in presenting an unexpected gift that Jack had robbed him of face, denying him the opportunity to reciprocate or that the gift was an implied criticism in any way? All this ran through Jack's mind. He spent weeks mulling it over. It was a risky endeavor, buying a special gift for Stephen, but Jack's nature filled him with a passionate desire to express his dearest love with something tangible. He put as much thought into it as planning a minor naval engagement. It was many months in the making.  
  
Jack was very happy that as it happened, April 18, 1810 fell on an uneventful Wednesday for the _Raisonable_ and a routine day for her Commodore. For that night, the problems of the squadron and of Lord Clonfert and Captain Corbett were entirely out of Jack's mind. That evening, Stephen came in the great cabin and Killick came behind him, carrying decanters of Madeira and port as well as their toasted cheese.  
  
"Stephen, I have a bit of a surprise," Jack said, as Stephen sat down and poured himself some port. Jack took two long slender cases from his desk. "The last time I had my sad old bow re-haired, I saw these in the shop and they were particular fine, so I ordered us each one and here they are." He said, handing Stephen the package. "They sent it with some capital rosin as well." Stephen unwrapped the paper and opened the sturdy case that the bow had been packed in. He looked at the bow very carefully.  
  
"Jack, is it a Chanot? Could it be a Chanot?" Stephen's pale eyes shone. "Mother of God, Jack, I am amazed -- amazed and delighted! I thought it impossible to find one now -- it has been years since I saw one, not since the Peace. I am not the equal of such a fine bow." He said, inspecting it from nut to frog to tip. "It is far too extravagant, far better than any ‘cello I’ve ever played. It is the violoncello bow of the world, my dear. Thank you so very much, dear Jack.”   
  
Jack was delighted to see such transparent joy on Stephen’s face. He knew that Stephen would never have countenanced a high quality violoncello at sea. The damp sea air and dramatic temperature changes were far too hard on finer stringed instruments and thus they both had left their respective better instruments in England. Jack knew if he had bought Stephen a very good 'cello, it would be like his own very best Dollard spyglass; put away for good, where it could not be damaged, never actually used, second best being the one he actually used the most.   
  
The bow was another matter -- far more able to deal with the vicissitudes of being at sea and Stephen's new bow was worth four times the value of his present 'cello and would dramatically improve the tone of his playing. Jack had not really needed a new bow but had bought himself one anyway. Jack and Stephen had looked wistfully at bows during the Peace back when neither had an extra penny. It was not a François Xavier Tourte bow, the finest in the entire world, which Jack knew full well Stephen would never use, thinking it akin to giving a first rate ship of the line to a midshipman to command. But a Chanot was very fine indeed; one of the best, a very handsome gift for a cellist and Jack felt extravagantly happy with his choice of gift to his most beloved friend.  
  
"We shall see if our duetti are improved. My bow has been in sad shape for years now, though my old nurse used to say a fine craftsman never blames his tools." They rosined their new bows and Jack asked, "Now, then, shall we attempt the Locatelli?" and they were off playing the sonata in A major, including their own theme and variation. Stephen’s cello playing now had a richer, deeper mellifluous sweetness they had never previously heard. Jack found their playing more beautiful than he could remember in a very, very long while and their music touched his heart profoundly and filled him with great happiness. Sharing music by playing with Stephen was one of Jack’s greatest joys in life. They played for hours, and it was very late, the lamp burned low, the candles were guttering and Jack yawned, full of contentment. He had dismissed Killick for the night. Stephen put his cello in its customary place, put his new bow in its case and stood and Jack found Stephen's arms around him.   
  
"Jack, for all love, would you think I would not know what today is?" Stephen said.  
  
“What day is it?”  
  
“The feast day of St. Cogitosus of Kildare, monk and biographer of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland, of course. I revere St. Brigid greatly. If I ever have a daughter, I shall her name her for Brigid of Kildare.” Stephen said and he smiled wryly seeing the expression on Jack’s face. “And this is the anniversary of the night that you received your first commission ten years ago. I give you great joy of it, my dear.”   
  
“That is true, Stephen.” Jack answered quietly. “Something else happened that day as well.” Stephen released him and went back to his chair, returning with a thick book. It was cordovan leather bound with gilt-edged creamy blank vellum pages. Jack’s name had been imprinted in the bottom right corner of the cover in gold letters.  
  
“Jack, this is not much but I thought you should like to have a journal to remember being a Commodore by, now that this is the tenth anniversary of your having command.” Jack lifted the book and opened it. Stephen had written an inscription on the fly leaf in his very poor scratchy hand, his permanent souvenir of having been tortured. Jack squinted to read it. There was a line of text with Stephen’s initials after it and the date: 18 April 1810  
  
“Stephen, what does it say? The light is so dim.”  
  
“It says, “ _Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit_ ,” a line from the Aeneid, Book 1.”  
  
“What does it mean?”  
  
“It means, “Perhaps in days to come it will please us to remember this.” Stephen said, very quietly. Jack felt tears in his eyes. It was an extravagantly emotional gesture on Stephen’s part, very unlike him and it meant the world to Jack. "Ten years tonight you have been my friend and my dearest love and esteem to you, joy." Jack realized that Stephen had planned to give him this journal with the excuse that it was the feast day of St. Cogitosus, the biographer, so Jack should not lose face had he not been prepared to reciprocate. Stephen had clearly planned this gift for months, had chosen something not too extravagant in view of the fact that Jack’s duties commanding the squadron would take priority and that he should not be embarrassed to be empty-handed on April 18, 1810. The symbolism of this journal for Jack to record details of their life together touched Jack as no gift ever had.  
  
“Thankee, Stephen.” Jack said, placing the book on the table and he and Stephen were entwined in each other’s arms within seconds.  
  
Jack's heart pounded so hard that he could hear his pulse in his ears as Stephen's mouth covered his own and he took his spectacles off to kiss Jack, an act that Jack invariably found extremely arousing. Embracing, they staggered over to the stern window lockers and sat down, kissing as they did so. Jack's hands trembled as he untied Stephen' s neckcloth and he leaned forward and kissed his neck below his ear, sliding off the locker until he was kneeling between Stephen's knees, his hands on both sides of Stephen' s head, holding him and kissing him deeply. Jack’s heart leapt to feel Stephen unbuttoning his shirt, Stephen’s hands reaching to pull the shirt away from his shoulders and away from Jack’s body. Jack opened his eyes and stopped kissing Stephen to unbutton his waistcoat.  
  
“Jack, my dear, is the door locked?” Jack stood and went to the door, locking it.  
  
“How can it be so hard to tear myself from you for less than two seconds?” Jack said very quietly and his hands trembled again as he unbuttoned Stephen’s shirt.  
  
Stephen rose and hung his waistcoat over the back of a chair. One of the pockets held his spectacles and he was very mindful of them. Jack had followed him the few steps, kissing him and pulling Stephen’s shirt off and placed it on the chair. He ran his hands over Stephen’s bare shoulders and back and pulled him closer. Jack almost leapt when Stephen slipped his hands into the girth of his breeches, his hands pushing through Jack’s small clothes, finding his erection and reaching under, between his legs to free his scrotum. Jack groaned and started hyperventilating.  
  
“Dear God, Stephen.” He gasped.  
  
“Are you fine, Jack?”  
  
“I am more than fine.” Stephen smiled wryly.  
  
“Let us see if you may be finer still.” Stephen said and walked to the chair where his waistcoat was draped and let go of Jack to go through his pockets, retrieving his thirty dram bottle of sweet oil. “Shall you decide where and how?"  
  
"Here and now, Stephen, if you please." Jack said, reaching into Stephen' s breeches.  
  
“For all love, not on the floor. Can we not couple like Christians?”  
  
“Stephen, I feel as though I should make love to you on the upper deck if there were nowhere else.” Jack said and his lips trembled. Stephen took him to the stern lockers and loosened his own breeches and they took their breeches, stockings and shoes off and finally slipped off their small clothes and Stephen anointed their hands with oil and directed Jack’s hand as he stroked Jack’s erection. “Stephen, pray show me how you do that manoeuvre, if you please.” Stephen had never seen Jack so aroused. He was pleased that the height of the stern lockers was perfect for Jack on his knees to approach Stephen whilst semi-prone.  
  
“Jack, I shall lie on my side here, with my knee drawn up. You can reach around my body with your left hand.” Stephen said, gesturing to Jack to kneel. Jack entered his body very slowly and Stephen reached for Jack’s hand and put it on his own erection and Jack thrust slowly, stifling his cries against Stephen’s neck. Stephen directed Jack’s hand and it strangely reminded him of the music they had played in the past, their first meeting when Stephen had scowled at him for beating out the time half a beat ahead during Locatelli’s C major quartet and he felt now as though he could feel the resonance of the ‘cello through Stephen’s entire body and the violin in his own chest and heart. Stephen motioned Jack to change their tempo from allegretto to largo and Jack suddenly apprehended that they were making love to the tempo of the largo of Bach’s violin concerto in G minor.  He felt tears rising in his eyes as he heard the music in his head, caressing Stephen's shoulder and kissing him tenderly between the shoulder blades, his own breaths coming in deep gasps, the emotion of the occasion momentarily overwhelming him. Stephen spent in Jack's hand and Jack pulled him over and kissed him hard as he pressed deeper into Stephen's person and then thrust slowly and tenderly and finally climaxed. Stephen could feel Jack’s tears on his neck as he started silently weeping. Stephen said nothing and pulled him close, holding him very tightly. Jack could say nothing. His tears fell between them. Stephen kissed him, tasting the salt of Jack's tears in his mouth.  
  
"Pray forgive me, Stephen." Jack said finally, very softly.  
  
"There is nothing to forgive of my very dearest friend on earth. You do me honour, soul." Stephen said, looking into his face.  
  
"Stephen, pray sleep in my cot tonight, if you please.” Jack whispered in Stephen’s ear.  
  
"With all my heart, Jack. Pray lock both the inner and the outer door to the cabin.”  
  
"I shall make it so."  
  
And so they did.


End file.
